


AutoFanFic

by Soobiebear



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 07:13:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19290820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soobiebear/pseuds/Soobiebear
Summary: Jeremy challenges Twitter to write a Grand Tour script.  The results are seriously rubbish.





	AutoFanFic

Jeremy threw the latest script onto his desk in disgust. Richard was lounging on the sofa, obviously not reading as quickly. James was at his own desk, slightly flushed and blinking at the text.

“’S total rubbish, is what that is.” Jeremy reached under his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. He’d need to gouge them out after what he’d read. 

“Oh, it’s not too bad so far.” Richard held up his tome, orange cover showing it was still a rough draft. 

“You did say on Twitter that the fans were going to write an script.” James set his glasses on his opened draft, managing to smirk as he shot Jeremy a look that clearly said ‘you got what you deserved’.

Jeremy pulled his own readers off and glared. “I thought we’d hear of a little great road that only a local knew about, or a grand adventure idea too preposterous for us to even imagine.”

“Fat chance of that,” Richard muttered.

“I was expecting grandeur and long held dreams, not...” he pointed at the script like it was an abomination.

“Clearly, multiple someones have read through your feeble defenses and lept to their own conclusions.” James shuffled through a few pages. “Page 53...”

Richard flipped quickly, finding the scene in question. His eyebrows quickly raised into his scalp. His mouth dropped open a few lines of dialogue in. “Can one do that, physically?”

James quickly skimmed the text.

“Maybe twenty years ago,” Jeremy lamented.

“Forty,” James corrected. 

“Yes, well,” Jeremy sniffed. “My point is, the idea was ambitious but rubbish and this fan script is clearly not going to work.”

Richard made a dissenting noise. “Ambitious but rubbish is what we do.”

“It’s not impossible.” _At our age_ , James left unsaid. “It would take some... practice.”

Jeremy grabbed a red editing pen and pointed it at James. “They weren’t exactly kind to you, either.” 

James smirked. “Not so bad.” He flipped back a few pages. “Page 47...”

Hammond dutifully backtracked, ready to piece together the early parts of the scene. “Whoa!” He squinted and re-read. “That’s going to be some expensive CGI.”

James’s smirk widened. “Not needed.”

“There is no way I’m letting anything that grew on him,” Jeremy punctuated himself with his pen, “Anywhere near my bottom. Ever.”

“You...” Richard glanced between the script and James. “That’s a rumor.”

“I have my fangirls,” James said haughtily. 

“May, this reads like your trash writing.” Jeremy was still leaning over his desk, more suspicious thoughts trailing across his mind.

“I can’t help it if the fans have finally seen through your ‘homosexualist’ denials. The lady doth protest too much.”

Jeremy dropped his pen. “I am not a homosexual.”

“Gertrude,” James rebutted, causing Jeremy to roll his eyes. “Like you never though about having Hammond on his knees before you.”

Richard’s cry of ‘What?’ was drowned out by Jeremy’s staunch disavowal. “I’m not!”

“Just because you went to a bougie public school doesn’t mean you can deny it.” James picked up the script again, flipping through a few pages.

“There’s only one gayer on the show, and it’s not me.” He placed his palm on his chest, striving to appear honest.

“Whatever, Clarkson, that joke is older than you are.” James continued to read, ignoring Jeremy’s insult, throwing a quick wink at Hammond. “Page 59...”

Hammond quickly flipped forward again, Jeremy choosing to ignore the script. James let Hammond read, watching as his cheeks reddened and the flush spread to his neck, disappearing into his shirt. He looked guiltily between James and Jeremy and back to the script.

“It’s called a spit-roast,” James said dryly, fingers tracing over the pornographic words. 

“That’s ummm... imaginative.” Richard quickly fell silent, flipping forward another page. “Don’t think Amazon will let this air.”

“You’re not honestly considering...” Jeremy ran his hand through his curls, pulling at the ends in frustration.

“Well, the helicopter needs a service, and we wouldn’t have to go to Tibet or Argentina or the Artic.” Richard flipped back to the beginning, making sure the writer hadn’t dumped them somewhere unseemly. “It could all be filmed in London.”

“It would probably make a lot of money, even if it could only play after the watershed.” James was enjoying Jeremy’s discomfort, enjoying the theory of the issue and playing devil’s advocate. “Costs would be low, save the actual filming costs and maybe a hotel rental and wet wipes.”

“James!” Jeremy was starting to flush himself but James couldn’t tell if it was arousal or frustration. 

“Oh, look at this, 66...” Richard read over the lines a few times before speaking. “Richard collapses on the bed and James uses his tongue to...”

“Oh my god! Don’t read it out loud!” Jeremy flipped to that part of the script, finding where Hammond left off. 

“I wonder if we get to do it in a car later.” Richard thumbed through the pages, skimming anything that looked interesting. “Oh, look, they didn’t know I crashed the Aeromax.”

“We could change it to a Gallardo. It’s still a draft.” James skimmed forward as well, letting the unique ideas wash over him.

“Maybe a DBS,” Richard supplied, reading a bit more of the scene.

“I’m not having gayness, not even in a supercar.” Jeremy was now digging through the script as well, wrinkling his nose as he read through different scenes.

“Page 114, and relax, Hammond was just wanking in that one. You wouldn’t even have to be on set.” This was too much fun, almost a much fun as the night he and Hammond had gotten drunk and written it all. “Unless you wanted to, of course.”

James noticed the way Jeremy’s fingers curled around the edge of the binding. “No, no, no,” Jeremy rejected yet turned pages to find the scene.

“More one for the ladies, I’d think.” Richard read over his solo scene, pleased at the attention to detail he’d written in.

“And the gayists.” Jeremy quickly flipped even further in the script, not reading more than he had to. “Oh my...”

James skimmed, wondering what scene caught Jeremy’s attention. He figured Jeremy was about 3/4 of the way through and skipped ahead. Jeremy bent over the engine of a 911 had always been a fantasy of his, and it was enough to really piss off Clarkson.

“Why do they always make a point of saying how ginormously huge your penis is?” Jeremy was staring at him now.

“Jealous?” James crossed his legs under his desk and squeezed his thighs, putting glorious pressure on his cock. 

“Can’t believe the lie.” Jeremy read a few more lines. “Really?” he asked aloud at something preposterous in the script.

“Not a lie.” Clarkson chuckled to himself, smug over James’ defensive reaction. 

“Yeah? Prove it.” It was said so offhandedly, distracted by the quality writing James had put to page. Jeremy forgot that sometimes James’ competitive streak was as big as his.

James raised an eyebrow, his cock jumping in his trousers. He had to push his palm against himself to quell the sudden throb Jeremy’s careless words caused.

“Jesus Christ!” Jeremy flinched when he looked up from the text and saw James exposed. “Holy mother of god,” he said in awe, unable to look away.

James trailed his fingertips up his length in a teasing touch, wiping a bead of precome over his head from where it had welled up. Richard scrambled on the couch, boosting himself up on the arm of the sofa to get a better view. “James...” It has been almost a week since he had his lips wrapped around James’ cock and his mouth watered.

“Brilliant joke, visit the props department the same day this script lands on us.” Jeremy eyed a line on James’ cock where his skin colour changed slightly. “Makeup could have done a better job.”

James fisted himself. “Not a prosthetic,” he said, giving himself another tug. “That’s from the circumcision, you simpleton.”

Jeremy looked again, not able to see much from across the room. “Ten quid says that’s fake.”

“Twenty quid says you don’t have the bollocks to find out.”

Richard watched the two of them from the safety of his sofa, witnessing James expertly bait and manipulate Jeremy.

Bullheaded to the point of ruin, Jeremy all but shot out of his chair and circled around his desk, willing to do just about anything to get £20 out of James and win a challenge.

James leaned back in his chair and left himself exposed as Jeremy loomed over him. A big hand wrapped around his shaft firmly, James’ hips pushing into the tightness involuntarily. James’ hands were white knuckled on the arms of his chair, eyes closing as Jeremy felt the possible makeup line ringing his cock.

“It’s real,” Jeremy declared, but didn’t let go. What Richard would have given for a video camera and a better angle. James gave small thrusts into Jeremy’s fist, moaning like a cheap whore. Seeing Jeremy frozen had Richard up and moving, not willing to waste the opportunity. He closed his hand over Jeremy’s, guiding his movements.

“Up and down, there you go. Firmly.” His own cock throbbed at the image of Jeremy’s hand on James, James’ laboured breaths filling the office. He watched as Jeremy found a rhythm, working James’s cock like a pro. “Add a little twisting motion at the top.” James liked that, and Jeremy tried to move his wrist.

James was close, weeks of plotting and scheming left both of them hard up and on edge, the few times they’d managed to take the edge off fading quickly as more pages were written and ideas were thrown around casually. Having Jeremy leaning over him and finally touching him would have put James straight to orgasm.

Richard knew the signs. James’ fingers twitched and his breathing hitched; Richard gently pushed Jeremy out of the way, sinking to his knees and sucking James into his mouth. Come filled Richard’s mouth before he’d even gotten halfway down, James’ hand clamping onto the back of Richard’s head to hold him still. Richard swallowed and worked the last drops from James, leaning back on his heels as James melted into a boneless pile. 

Richard left his hands on James’ thighs, licking his lips to catch the last taste of James’ skin. 

“Did I miss that in the script somewhere?” Richard noticed the bulge in Jeremy’s jeans, and the way he held his hand as if it had just touched a holy relic. 

Not trusting his voice, Richard tried to clear his throat and coughed discreetly.

“Forty quid says you can’t resist a Hammond knob job.” James still hadn’t opened his eyes and his cock was still laying obscenely against his belly, wet with spit.

Richard shifted on the floor and turned towards Jeremy. He looked up with his big brown eyes and raised an eyebrow in challenge, licking his reddened lips with a quick tongue.

Jeremy left work that night £100 richer and in desperate need of some alcohol.


End file.
